


let the time craft

by milleseptcent



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milleseptcent/pseuds/milleseptcent
Summary: Robbie’s son is about 6 and a half when he develops an interest as sudden as it is keen in a certain Steve McManaman.It's quite cute at first.Until there’s a Scousers meetup at the McManaman residence in London for New Year's Eve, and on the morning of the 1st, his son asks him all serious "Da, can I marry Steve?".Robbie might have himself a problem.
Relationships: Robbie Fowler/Steve McManaman
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	let the time craft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBlackWook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackWook/gifts).

> I have no idea whether or not I should thank @theblackwook, but she is certainly responsible for the existence of this fic. Still, I am grateful for her patience, her passion and her fact-checking <3
> 
> Title is from my dubious translation of some French rap lyrics & it's ridiculous as hell. sorry about that

Robbie’s son is about 6 and a half when he develops an interest as sudden as it is keen in a certain Steve McManaman.

It starts with Macca coming over for a few days at the start of the summer – the rest of the world is _ simply too _warm, according to him, and the Liverpool weather at least can be relied upon to be as unwelcoming as ever. The grey rainclouds don’t deter him from finding a football and proceeding to make a great impression in Robbie’s backyard, dribbling effortlessly past all four of the Fowler kids and scoring a screamer which Robbie, as the designated goalie, can do nothing about.

“How did you do it,” Jacob exclaims. “I didn’t even see anything until it was too late!”

He insists that Macca shows him his trick – eventually, his sisters give up and go back inside, but the pair stays out until it gets dark, passing the ball back and forth. When Robbie finally manages to lure them back inside with the promise of dinner, his son is beaming and Macca’s cheeks are blotchy red, but he is smiling, too. Robbie shakes his head fondly – Macca’s always been a bit of a showoff, after all.

Macca ruffles Jacob’s hair affectionately before stepping onto his train back to London. “You’ll send me videos, when you manage those tricks, won’t you lad?” Jacob nods solemnly, and he makes good on his promise, practicing almost every day of his holiday, dragging Robbie outside every so often to film his proud smile and increasingly complicated tricks.

Robbie has to admit, it’s all very cute at first. He can't quite hold back a smile at his son's sparkling eyes when he retells his favorite Macca stories (which are all of them); or at the kid’s avid watching of videos of Macca's goals from their time at Liverpool.

It’s cute, and it’s not like Robbie is in any position to blame anyone for having a bit of a crush on Macca anyways, having sustained one with various degrees of intensity for the past, oh, three decades or so. _ Like father, like son _, a voice in his head says before he can shush it.

It's quite cute at first –

Until there’s a Scousers meetup at the McManaman residence in London for New Year's Eve, with Carra and Stevie and Rushie; and on the morning of the 1st, his son asks him all serious "Da, can I marry Steve?".

Robbie's first reaction is a startled "No?” with a vague undertone of what is maybe jealousy and _ since when is Robbie jealous of his own kid - _

Robbie might have himself a problem.

Before he can get up to some much needed introspection, his son is crossing his arms and pouting, and Robbie feels his hands sweating before Jacob even asks: “Why? Is someone already married to Steve?”

It’s unfair, really, that a problem Robbie has barely even discovered is already getting so much worse so fast.

“No!” Robbie says, a bit louder than is maybe needed, as the pang of jealousy is back with a revenge. For a moment, he feels twenty years old again, with Macca on the other side of a pub table telling him smugly about his weekend hookup, and Robbie trying to sound suitably cool and unbothered as any _ best mate _ should be – despite how Macca's lips had been red and shiny with ale that Robbie had no right to taste, telling tales that Robbie had no right to be a character of.

“Then why can’t I marry him?” Jacob prods further. Fortunately for him, Robbie’s not twenty anymore, and as he takes a deep breath, he contemplates his many years of practice in acting like he feels fine and normal regarding the topic of Steve McManaman.

Still, when there’s a knock and Macca’s face appears in the door crack, smiling and asking what they’ll have for breakfast, Robbie’s forty-years-old-with-a-kid heart leaps not quite uncomfortably and he can’t help but smile back.

“Can I please have hot milk, please Steve?” His son asks, thankfully dropping the previous topic – and if Robbie had known two days at Macca’s house would finally teach him to say _ please _ and _ thank you _, he’d have brought him there earlier.

Macca laughs and his hair somehow looks perfect even though it’s early still and he says _ Of course, lad _ in a kind voice. The boy squeals and runs to hug Macca around the knees with such energy that Macca’s thorough experience with Premier League tackles has to be the only thing allowing him to keep his balance.

Macca laughs. “Let’s go have breakfast then, yeah?” He says softly as he bends down to pick Jacob up. The kid nods in his arms, his smile half-shy and half-eager and fully directed towards Macca, Robbie watching helplessly from the bed.

Jacob had inherited Robbie’s smile, or so everyone said, and Robbie prays he doesn’t quite look like _ that _when he smiles at Macca, or he might have himself even more problems than just the one.

He lets out a long sigh, listening to Jacob’s excited chatter fade out in the distance as Macca carries him down the corridor. He attempts to pull himself together for at least an entire minute, to un-etch from his mind the image of Macca’s smile and Jacob cuddled in his arms and the word _ marriage _– Robbie gives up and decides to pull on some trousers instead.

When he gets to the crowded kitchen, Jacob doesn’t even look up from where Macca’s apparently tasked him to divide baked beans equally between everyone’s plates. _ Ungrateful kid _ , he thinks to himself, and then Macca spots him and he winks in his direction, so Robbie makes a point to go offer Rushie help to set the table. Rushie may or may not, God forbid, _ wiggle his eyebrows _ as he looks between him and Macca, but Robbie ignores it all, getting his hands busy and his mind idle.

.

They all take the tube to the London Eye, and attract less attention than Robbie would think, being a family of five old Scousers and a dozen children.

The attendant does recognize Stevie and Carra – being on national telly every other day will do that; and from then on deduces who they all are. She tells them that she’s an Arsenal supporter, the poor lass, but they only give her a moderately low amount of stick for it as she fits them in the next time slot, skipping the queue.

The cabin has barely even lifted off the ground when Macca starts wiggling in his seat. Robbie squeezes himself closer against the window. Macca’s probably trying to get comfortable – Carra and Stevie’s kids sharing the bench on the other side of the cabin seem comfortable enough, but two former athletes crammed in along with Jacob is a bit much for the narrow cabin.

Macca doesn’t settle, though, and soon enough his knee is pressing against Robbie’s. Robbie frowns, leaning his forehead against the glass to look out at the view, but Macca squirms further until they’re fully pressed together from thighs to shoulders. Then he pushes his hand against Robbie’s.

“What’re you doing,” Robbie mumbles, turning to Macca, who is looking at him with a shit-eating grin. Robbie grins. “Oh, so it’s like that,” he says, louder, and pushes his knee back against Macca’s. Macca snorts and tries to resist, but his knee’s slowly giving in – Robbie’s about to celebrate his victory when Macca jabs sharply at his ribs.

At this point, Robbie’s undignified squeak attracts the kids’ attention, and Stevie’s youngest whines:

“Stop, the cabin’s shaking!”

Macca shoves at Robbie one last time before extracting his hand from between them and resting it on Robbie’s shoulders as a truce. Robbie leans into him and the cabin settles while they finally take a look at the view.

Robbie doesn’t see the way his son looks at him from the other side of the bench.

.

“Da?” Jacob says at bath time.

“Yeah, son?”

“I decided I’m not going to marry Steve.”

“Huh huh. Smart decision, that. What made you change your mind, then?”

“I don’t think he would wanna marry me.”

“For sure.”

For a while, there’s only the noise of water splashing and steam rising, then Jacob says:

“Dad, you’re Steve’s age, aren’t you?”

“He’s a tad older, yeah,” Robbie says distractedly, trying to rinse the shampoo out of the kid’s hair.

“Then why don’t _ you _marry Steve?”

Robbie drops the towel he’s holding right into the tub and bites back a swear. _ For fuck’s sake _ , he thinks to himself as he turns to the cabinet to get another towel, _ teaching this kid about persistence or whatever was a load of bullshit _.

Indeed, Jacob doesn’t let go. “C’mon Da, why wouldn’t you want to marry Steve?” He asks as Robbie is lifting him out of the tub to dry him off. Robbie focuses with all his might on not dropping his son in the tub, depositing him safe and sound on the bathroom carpet.

Very nearly escaping drowning doesn’t stop the lad from staring at his father all inquisitive.

“It’s not… possible,” Robbie somehow forces out.

“He’s good-looking, he’s nice and he’s great at football,” Jacob ticks off on his fingers. “And he loves y-” he starts, but then Robbie _ unfortunately _has to dry the kid’s hair, covering his face and muffling the words. “He loves you,” Jacob continues, glaring at Robbie once the towel comes off. “You love him too, huh?”

Robbie swallows, looking in his son’s earnest eyes. “I do,” he says faintly, and he doesn’t know why it’s suddenly a big deal to say it. It’s not like he hasn’t told Macca before – on a football pitch or in a pub or at the end of a phone call.

“Then you have to marry him,” Jacob says matter-of-factly, putting his t-shirt on. Robbie looks at him, wondering how come it was never so fast for him to come to such resolutions regarding his feelings for Macca. Being six certainly seemed to have its perks. “That way, I can see Steve every day.”

Jacob pats Robbie on the shoulder, then grins and turns around, hurrying out of the door. It takes Robbie one second too long to run after him as he realises that the kid has no trousers on.

.

“It’s strange, though, to have a reunion in London,” Stevie says at lunch before he and Rushie take the train back home in the afternoon. “Liverpool would be more proper, innit?”

“Well Carra had to be in London for Sky. And I don’t even have a house in Liverpool, anyways,” Macca answers, leaning sideways towards his daughter and focused on trying to wipe mashed potatoes off her cheeks.

“Yeah, well I don’t know how that works for you, mate,” Robbie says. “Coming back to Liverpool has been so good to me, I couldn’t ever picture myself leaving again.”

Macca shrugs. “It’s not like I can’t visit. I come over often enough, don’t I?” He breaks off to pick up a napkin left behind by a kid running from her seat, and when he emerges from the floor, he shoots Robbie a weirdly intense look. “I guess I just have another way of loving Liverpool – I guess it’s never been just about the city for me, innit?”

Robbie swallows his mouthful of potatoes. Macca’s still staring at him, and he feels his face heat up in the awkward silence. There’s a beat of uncomfortable stillness around the table, and then Carra clears his throat at the exact same moment Rushie suddenly gets up. “Macca my lad, come on and help me with the cleaning up,” he says, his tone affable enough but leaving no room for questions.

_ What the hell _ , Robbie thinks as he watches both men retreat to the kitchen. Surely, no one has called Macca _ lad _ for the past decade, if not more. The air is still weirdly charged – if Rushie hadn’t been a father figure to everyone in Liverpool and most especially Robbie, he’d have thought they were about to go make out passionately on the kitchen counter or something of the sort.

Robbie pulls a face at the mental image, but just then he gets the perfect excuse to leave the table as well in the form of his eldest daughter heroically wailing upstairs.

Ten minutes and a trip to the medicine cabinet later, Robbie’s done applying plasters, kisses and ice cream promises. Not the slightest bit impeded by her bloody knee, his daughter skips into the kitchen with Robbie in tow, walking in on Rushie and Macca. They’re not getting any washing-up done at all, rather appearing to be caught up in an _ important conversation _, which comes to a sudden halt when Robbie appears in the doorway. They’re wearing matching serious looks and Macca’s ears are a strange shade of red.

“I’m just gonna get – ice cream, right, sweetie,” Robbie says, which prompts a serious, categorical nod from his daughter, and matching fond smiles from his almost-father and his – whatever Macca is to him which grants him claim to the title of honorary family member. It is a bit overwhelming, so Robbie gets the ice cream and retreats to safety of the dining room to finally polish up those mashed potatoes.

.

As they say their goodbyes, Rushie claps Macca on the shoulder and tells him, “You better not forget what we talked about, lad,” and Robbie watches Macca’s ears go all red again, and then the house gets significantly quieter as they all take their leave.

It goes almost completely quiet after Carra, Macca and him put the children to bed. It’s the last night, so Macca takes out his fancy whiskey glasses so that they can proceed to get properly pissed while telling stories of times of red glory and white suits. That plan goes spectacularly well, until around one in the morning when Jamie excuses himself to take a call from Gary Neville, Manc extraordinaire, of all people.

From the other end of the now empty couch, Macca wiggles his eyebrows at Robbie, who wiggles right back. He’s dying to make a comment, but he doesn’t. He might not have much emotional self-awareness, but even he realises how he’d sound, ragging on two ex-footballers with a stupid crush on each other and an inability to do anything about it.

From the next room over comes the sound of Jamie getting all high-pitchedly righteous, and Robbie snickers in his full glass - and how can it be still full, he’s drunk so much, certainly it’s got to be empty by now. It’s sort of sweet that Carra’s getting in drunk arguments in the middle of the night with his Manc ambiguous-colleague, Robbie thinks, and – yeah, he’s definitely had his fill. Whiskey always made him foolishly melancholic.

Robbie looks over at Macca, who’s hair is shining in the light, and the shape of his nose is really –

He doesn’t go much farther with this line of thought, because Macca looks back at him and smiles lazily. Robbie smiles, too, and that’s when Macca says, “We should have kids.”

Robbie fails to swallow his mouthful of whiskey, sputtering. “What?” He chokes out.

“Together.” Macca says, and Robbie must still look pretty lost because he repeats himself: “We should have kids together.”

“We… Already have kids?” Robbie says. Between Jacob’s talks of marriage and now _ this _, he doesn’t think there’s been as much discussion on what he and Macca should do together since pundits blabbering about their attacking partnership.

“But not together.” Macca says serenely. “Look, Growler,” he says, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning in close to Robbie, who’s heart rate picks up a bit at the nickname. “We do have horses together.” As if that makes it all any clearer. “But this family is missing something.”

Robbie’s mouth is dry. He hasn’t dared to think about a _ family _ ever since the divorce, but well – he tries not to think about Rushie and Macca and his daughter in the kitchen. Macca is looking at him intently, his eyes dark, and suddenly it seems essential that Robbie finds something to say back at him.

“I think… I think you’ll find science disagrees, actually,” and he’s quite confident in his argument, but Macca looks unshaken.

“That girl at the Eye, earlier.” He says. “When you and Stevie were in the shop, and I was waiting outside with the kids. The whole time, she was telling me how cute my son was, and how much he looked like me.” There’s a beat.

Robbie remembers very well, coming out of the shop to find Macca holding Jacob’s hand, the kid looking up adoringly at him. He’d taken Jacob’s other hand, not thinking much of it – had tried to think nothing at all of it, actually, but the squeeze in his chest at Macca’s playful smile had not quite allowed him to. “She meant Jacob,” Macca says.

“He does have freckles,” Robbie breathes out. “Like you.”

Macca smiles wide, and Robbie looks at his eyes crinkled in delight, then at his freckles, transparent on his skin, then at his beaming mouth. He raises an alcohol-clumsy hand, the tips of his fingers coming up to lightly touch Macca’s cheek. It’s slightly red, and warm from the alcohol, and Robbie can make out all of Macca’s freckles. Robbie frowns – when did Macca move so near, so impossibly close, his breath warm on Robbie’s face –

His hands don’t even shake that much as he sets his whiskey glass down on the floor, and somehow Macca seems to take that as a signal to kiss him.

Robbie’s breath hitches. Macca’s lips are a bit chapped – it’s been cold out in London – Robbie closes his eyes and kisses back, his heart racing high in his chest, his knees feeling a bit weak and his head spinning, and he blames it on the whiskey.

They break apart and Robbie’s feeling out of breath like he’s just come off the pitch after a full 90 minutes.

“Jacob told me you wanted to marry me,” Macca says against his lips, and Robbie huffs a laugh, ducking his head and resting it in Macca's neck. Macca's arms come up to circle his back, holding him. “Rushie said he was right. Is it true, then?”

Robbie is about to answer, but then Carra reappears in the doorway. They all freeze as Carra takes in the sight of his mates cuddling on the couch. All three of them are sporting matching lovestruck smiles.

Macca erupts into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, and Robbie chuckles, half in good fun and half in wonder – he can hear Macca’s laugh in his chest. For all of the times Robbie’s heard, and made, Macca laugh, it’s the first time he feels it so close, and there’s no way he can go back now.

“I take it your boyfriend is well, then,” Macca quips lazily at Carra, who still has his phone in his hand.

“He’s not my boyf… We’re just colleagues!”

“Sure, mate,” Robbie says. “You know, Macca and I own a company together. Look at what colleagues get up to, then.” He lifts his head to look at Macca, hoping he’s not crossing any line, but Macca looks like he’s having his second Christmas in a week.

“Growler. You have no idea how long I was waiting to finally sort this out and take the piss out of him,” Macca says, his voice tender and properly enamored. Robbie feels his face go warm.

Carra pulls a face. “This is unfair. _ Thirty _years I have to suffer from your antics, I should be the one taking the piss here!”

.

The next morning, Robbie wakes up feeling too warm and his head pounding. He shifts around a bit, and Macca makes a little noise. Robbie cracks one eye open and smiles despite the pain stabbing at his skull, because Macca’s frowning as he wakes up a little, and his hair is all messy on the pillow, and it’s an all around glorious sight first thing in the morning.

“Kiss me,” Macca mumbles, and Robbie snickers.

“No way, mate. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your awful morning breath from when we were rooming together.”

Macca groans and pouts and he snuggles closer in Robbie’s arms, going back to sleep.

.

Robbie still ends up kissing him when Jacob slams open the door to Macca's room ten minutes later and jumps on the bed yelling “Good morning!”

“Gross!” Jacob yells, making choking noises, but he’s smiling.


End file.
